


The Art of Negotiation

by a_m_c_7



Series: A Slight Miscalculation [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Sebastian Moran, Boss/Employee Relationship, Crimes & Criminals, Established Relationship, Etymology, Explicit Language, Humor, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Politics, Sebastian Moran's Past, Sick Jim Moriarty, Smart Sebastian Moran, Soup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_m_c_7/pseuds/a_m_c_7
Summary: In which Jim has a cold, Sebastian ventures outside his comfort zone, and, somewhat remarkably, no one gets shot.----“What do you mean, you need me to go to a meeting for you?”“Well, I can’t go like…” Jim gestured vaguely to himself. “…this.”“Can’t you just reschedule?” Sebastian asked.Jim gave Sebastian a look. “No. Otherwise I would have done that already and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”Sebastian shrugged. “Why not, I guess.”Actually, there were a fair number of reasons why not, Sebastian reflected several hours later as he found himself in the lobby of an office building, face-to-face with a grey-haired man and a team of most-likely-armed lackeys.





	The Art of Negotiation

Jim Moriarty had a cold. Sebastian could safely say that seeing his boss/lover/whatever he was, who at times seemed nearly infallible, beset by the common cold was one of the strangest experiences of his life.

Jim, not surprisingly, refused to accept that he was ill. All morning, he had been putting up a valiant effort to ignore his symptoms and continue on with his work. And he probably would have succeeded, if it weren’t for the fact that he just kept sneezing. These little tiny sneezes that were completely adorable and absolutely unbefitting of anyone who aspired to the title of criminal mastermind.

Not that Sebastian would ever say that out loud. He wanted to keep all his extremities, thank you very much.

“Boss,” he said instead, “I think you have a cold.”

Jim turned to Sebastian, fixed him with a glare that was only slightly reduced in intimidation value by his puffy nose, opened his mouth to speak, and…

Sneezed. Adorably.

Sebastian held back a smile. “I could make you some soup.”

Jim stood up from where he was sitting on the couch, grabbed the papers he had been reading, and marched over to Sebastian, sticking an angry finger in his face.

“Fuck you. And your soup,” he said, then stormed into his office and slammed the door shut.

Sebastian made him the soup anyway.

By the next day, all that’d changed was that half the soup Sebastian had put in the fridge was gone and Jim’s most noticeable symptom went from the sneezing to the rather worrying amounts of snot his nose was producing. 

“I need you to go to a meeting for me,” Jim announced around midday. He was still attempting to work, but at a slightly slower pace than the day before.

“What do you mean, you need me to go to a meeting for you?”

“Well, I can’t go like…” Jim gestured vaguely to himself. “…this.”

“Can’t you just reschedule?” Sebastian asked.

Jim gave Sebastian a look. “No. Otherwise I would have done that already and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

Sebastian shrugged. “Why not, I guess.”

Actually, there were a fair number of reasons why not, Sebastian reflected several hours later as he found himself in the lobby of an office building, face-to-face with a grey-haired man and a team of most-likely-armed lackeys. First and foremost: This type of negotiating was not his specialty. He was terrible at any persuasion that didn’t consist of looking imposing and threatening violence. Not to mention he was fucking shit at diplomacy. He had a habit of running his mouth and managing to say the absolute worst thing possible in any given situation—he had the scars from numerous childhood (and adulthood) brawls to prove it.

Hearing Jim say “Don’t fuck this up” over the earpiece in his ear wasn’t doing wonders for his confidence in his abilities, either.

“I was led to believe that I would be meeting with Moriarty himself,” the grey-haired man said in an unimpressed voice as one of his lackeys stepped up to frisk Sebastian. “You are not Moriarty.”

Dear lord, the man sounded pretentious.

“Moriarty unfortunately couldn’t make it. He sent me on his behalf,” Sebastian said while holding out his arms obediently so the guard could feel along the lines of the damn tailored suit Jim had insisted he wear. There had been no possible way of concealing weapons under the fitted garment. Although Jim had assured him that any concealed weapons would be found and cause more trouble than bringing them would be worth, Sebastian wished he had brought at least a small knife anyway. He felt as good as naked.

The lackey stepped back and nodded to his boss, who was frowning ever so slightly. “Very well, I suppose,” he said, voice betraying only the barest hint of displeasure. “Follow me.”

Sebastian was led—well, more like herded, given the guards encircling him—through the lobby and to a lift. The grey-haired man swiped a keycard in a reader next to the lift’s call buttons, then pressed the ‘up’ arrow. They waited in silence for the lift doors to open with a high-pitched _ding_. The ride up to the top floor was uncomfortable, and Sebastian had to force his body to not tense up at the fact that he was outnumbered and outgunned in such an enclosed space.

The top floor consisted of a spacious room with a work desk at one end and a large conference table at the other. A view of the city was provided by one wall taken up entirely by floor-to-ceiling windows that Sebastian assumed were made of bulletproof glass (or at least he hoped so, otherwise whoever had designed this was an idiot).

“Please, take a seat,” the grey-haired man said before sitting down at the head of the conference table.

Sebastian obliged.

Two of the man’s guards stood behind their boss and another two behind Sebastian, while the others placed themselves by the door. They seemed well-trained, probably former military or police turned private security. Not elite, but perfectly capable. And in a much better position than Sebastian at the moment.

“Now, it seems some introductions are in order.” The man paused. “Or, rather, who might you be? I’m sure you already know who I am.”

Sebastian did know.

“You’ll be meeting with Warren Beadon,” Jim had explained earlier. “He’s a member of the House of Lords.”

“A politician?” Sebastian had groaned. “Thought it’d be a mob boss or something… I’m not good with politicians.”

Jim had raised his eyebrow. “You grew up surrounded by politicians. Your father is one.”

Sebastian had scoffed. “Yeah, and I’ve always gotten along _so_ well with my father.”

“I know you know how to behave around this sort of people,” Jim had said in a tone that brooked no argument, “you just don’t like to do it. Stop complaining.”

“Fine,” Sebastian had grumbled. “So what should I say?”

Jim had told him the situation: Warren, who for several years had been receiving money in exchange for a service that Jim hadn’t specified, had requested a meeting with Moriarty to discuss their arrangement. The gist of it had been that Jim needed that arrangement to continue. “But, just in case, I’ll be listening in on the meeting and can tell you what to say,” Jim had said, holding up a small, concealable earpiece.

“Okay, fine,” Sebastian had agreed. Then he’d smirked. “But you’d better not be sneezing in my ear the whole time.”

The look Jim had levelled him with had been unamused. “And _you_ ’d better be using your posh public school accent instead of trying to hide it.” At Sebastian’s affronted expression, he’d continued, “Don’t give me that. I know you have one—it comes out sometimes during sex.”

“Fuck you,” Sebastian had said, and had absolutely not blushed. Not at all. 

Now, Jim’s voice in Sebastian’s ear was telling him, “Use your real name or an alias you’re familiar with. Anything else and he might be able to tell you’re lying.”

“Sebastian. Pleasure to meet you,” Sebastian replied, hoping that his observance of politeness came off as genuine rather than mocking.

“Sebastian, eh?” Warren said. “The patron saint of athletes, archers, and people with the plague.”

Thankfully, Sebastian managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. And soldiers.”

“Do you know where the name comes from?” Warren asked.

Sebastian’s answer was instinctual. “The ancient Greek word _sebastos_ , meaning ‘venerable.’” His father had an obsession with lecturing him about this when he was young, and he didn’t really fancy a repeat etymology lesson from the man currently sitting in front of him. “Also the Greek translation of _Augustus_ , the Latin title for Roman emperors.” Because of course the great Augustus Moran hadn’t been able to resist that particular coincidence.

Sebastian heard Jim’s cackling over the comms. “I’m calling you Augustus, Jr. from now on.”

Warren, however, was silent, and Sebastian worried that he’d made a mistake, answered a question that had been merely rhetorical, that he had not been meant to know the answer to. But then the man smiled, shark-like, and said, “Yes, it’s a very interesting name, isn’t it.”

A rather uncomfortable silence descended while Warren looked at Sebastian meaningfully. Sebastian had no idea what was going on—was he supposed to say something?—so he just stared back at him blankly.

Apparently it was the right strategy, as the man finally rested his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together under his chin, and said, “Let’s get to the matter at hand, shall we?”

Sebastian nodded. “Fine by me. You requested this meeting—what did you want to discuss?”

“I merely wanted to inform Moriarty that as much as I have benefitted from our…relationship…in the past, the time has come for it to end.”

Jim had suspected that this was the reason Warren wanted to meet, so Sebastian was prepared. But he’d also had it drilled into his head that this man’s cooperation was very, very important (although exactly why was still a bit unclear), so he just hoped he was prepared _enough_.

“I’m sure Moriarty would be willing to renegotiate the terms of your agreement to ones that suit you better,” Sebastian told Warren, repeating one of the phrases that Jim had made him practice saying earlier.

One corner of the politician’s mouth quirked up in an uneven smile. “How kind of him.” His expression turned steely. “Unfortunately, however, I must decline.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra 250,000 a year,” Jim said.

Sebastian sincerely doubted Warren would budge for 250,000 quid—Jim would probably know that too if he were here in person—but he’d give it a shot anyway. “Moriarty has authorized me to offer you an extra 250,000 a year. Would that change your mind?”

Warren shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Before Jim could make another suggestion, Sebastian asked, “Is there anything that would change your mind?”

“Oh, perhaps, but I’m hard pressed to think of what that might be at the moment,” the politician equivocated. "I am a man who wants for very little, after all.” His cold gaze met Sebastian’s. “Besides, even if I could think of anything, who’s to say that Moriarty would be able to offer it?”

Attempting to ignore the offended noise Jim made (“Has he _met_ me?”), Sebastian considered his options. He could vault across the table, hope he managed to break Warren’s neck before the guards started shooting, and go out in a blaze of glory. He could tell the man he’d relay the message and end the meeting, leaving the situation to Jim to deal with later. He could keep insisting and likely get a bullet for his efforts.   

Or he could do something else entirely, that could either go really well or backfire terribly.

Sebastian sighed, laying his hands flat against the tabletop. “Look, I’m going to level with you. I’m Moriarty’s enforcer. He didn’t send me here to negotiate with you.”

The guards stiffened, their hands drifting toward the guns holstered at their waists before a wave of the politician’s hand stopped them. “Is that so?” 

“Sebastian, what are you doing?” Jim asked, tone warning.

“I’ve been looking for opportunities for advancement, though,” Sebastian continued. “Lately, I’ve been considering more of a leadership position. Moriarty’s methods leave something to be desired.”

“You’re ambitious,” Warren said. “An admirable quality.”

“It will take me some time to get there, during which I’ll need to remain unsuspected and in favour.” Sebastian paused. “And I’ll need allies, who will of course receive significant compensation. If you assist me today, I’ll consider you one.” 

Warren scrutinized him for a long moment. “Alright,” he said eventually. “Tell Moriarty that I will keep to our arrangement for an additional 250,000 a year.”

“Excellent.” Sebastian stood. “I will let him know.”

“I will have two of my men escort you out.” Warren motioned to two of his guards, then smiled thinly at Sebastian. “I look forward to working with you again in the future.”

It wasn’t until he had exited the building and walked a block that Jim spoke up again over the comms. “Did you just plan a coup against me?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Sebastian wasn’t worried that Jim would take him seriously. He didn’t have an ambitious bone in his body and Jim knew it.

“I don’t remember telling you to do that,” Jim said, though he didn’t sound _too_ angry.

Sebastian shrugged, even though Jim couldn’t see it. “Yeah, but he’ll cooperate for a while longer at least. Gives you more time to come up with a better plan.”

Jim made a thoughtful noise. “You do know he’s just planning to use you to take over my organization himself, right?”

“Yeah, probably. I doubt he’s enough of an idiot to think he’ll get a better deal with me than with you. Either he’s thinking he’ll usurp me or that he’ll be able to manipulate me.”

Jim didn’t say anything for a moment, which usually meant he was thinking. “Well,” he said after a while, “I suppose you didn’t fuck up too badly.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian replied, then asked, “Hey, if you ever need Warren dead, can I kill him?”

Jim laughed.


End file.
